home is where the heart is
by losing you
Summary: but where's yours, riku? ; riku


_home is where the heart is_

You are awake, and, all of a sudden, you are _alive_. You are _home_.

You are _loved_. You are _hated_.

These mixes of emotion, they confuse and bewilder you, they drink away your thoughts as you would, if you had enough bourbon. How is this possible, you wonder, how is it that there are so many people who care? His hands are tapping and bumping and drilling and nailing themselves into the mattress, you pull the covers back to your unclothed chest and try to sleep again.

But something stops you.

You don't know what it is – who it is. There are grey-green-red spots on the walls, from the mobile that hangs directly in front of your window, the wind blows through it.

You realize it was closed, before.

Riku, you remember _closing it_.

But that really just doesn't change the fact that there is now an open window that you have to close – white winds blow throughout the room like snow and you realize that, really, it couldn't be snowing, or hailing, or anything.

Riku, you're on an _island_.

You look again. The window is closed, and the room is warm again. You don't know what you saw, but you lay your head back onto the pillow and you, taking a breath, decide that it was just your imagination. Thoseyears (_"I waited for you!"_) where you were gone must have messed you up a bit, and those sleeping pills _did_ warn you of hallucinations, didn't they? Head on the pillow, you close your eyes and then something happens – something dark and scary and unnerving, something deep and vicious and _cynical_. Someone's whispering into your ear, something you don't know, you don't understand. It's being said so fast and so quiet you struggle to hear it, but to ignore it, as well.

He's saying it over, and over, and over again.

The repetition is _killingyoukillingyoukillingyou_.

And then you scream, so loud so that the tops of the treetops and their grandmothers can hear you, you scream _what are you saying?_ because, since that journey of yours ended, your temper's been frozen and lost and _dead_. You tear the covers away in fear, and you see a spark of yellow as something runs along the wall (_dark and scary and unnerving, deep and vicious and cynical_) so fast that you would have missed it, had you blinked your eyes, had you turned away...

And then the house is silent. It's deep and it's scary and all of those other things darkness entails, as you get back in bed _one more fucking time_ to give it _one more fucking chance _to get the hell out of your fucking room.

But it doesn't – it's breathing into your ears and scratching your shoulders and tearing your skin bit by bit, the fragile paper layers falling apart at the seams (_when you've only just put them back together_) and you ignore it, Riku.

You ignore it for one of two reasons. Either you've fallen asleep (which you haven't), or you're _too damn scared_ to fight back.

And all you want to know is what it's saying – what it's trying to break, what you're going to fix _this time_ – and all you really, really want is for it to leave you alone. You're listening so hard, clenching your teeth as you hear it's body whisper against the bedclothes and the wallpaper covered in blue paopu fruits.

But you hear it now, don't you, Riku? You hear it and you know what it's saying, you know why it's saying it, too – why _he's_ telling you this. You know who it is, now.

And you turn around, looking into bright yellow and deep, scary, ever-so-slightly translucent, dark just because you _never have before_.

And he's throwing a fit, scratching up your chest and your arms, and you restrain him by pushing him against the wall of the bed, you're still under the covers because _oh my fucking God is it cold_ and this doesn't demand your getting up, anyway.

And you can't tell, _Riku_, but you're _crying_, tears are falling from your eyes for who knows what reason. Your cheeks are red and sticky and his are _black and tough_.

And it says the same thing it's been growling at you for the past few moments again, and again, and again in one low, quiet, _slow_ sentence. "Are we the same, Riku?" and then, as the immature afterthought of from whence he came. "Are you missing something, too?"

_but where's yours, Riku?_

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

omgwtmfh.

dunno where this was going, whatever.

it's anti-sora, btw.

uh-oh-spaghetti-o.

jesus christ.

uhhhh.

this is for hannah – because i have yet to write that c&c songfic for her

-headdesk-

and this should temporarily distract her raaaaaaage.

reviews – they are the mofoing best.

i like riku so much, he's a bigass fave of mine atm.


End file.
